


It’s A Game Of Give And Take

by FoxglovePrincess



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Cussing, Dating, F/M, Human/Monster Romance, Human/Monster Society, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, Making Out, Misunderstandings, Multi, Online Dating, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29981316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxglovePrincess/pseuds/FoxglovePrincess
Summary: Dating apps can be tricky. Especially if you’re looking for something specific—like anyone who can even compare to your two roommates, who also happen to be your best friends and in love with each other. You’ve been matched! Just not with the ones you want.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 101





	It’s A Game Of Give And Take

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own little monster universe that I’ve created and I hope you enjoy it. I do wanna make one thing clear, though—when I say it’s a misunderstanding, it is on both sides. They really are just idiots. So, yeah. I did not expect it to get this long. Sorry.
> 
> Tell what you think in the comments. If I’m missing any tags, let me know (I tried to get everything, but no one’s perfect).
> 
> UnBeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title taken from “You Can’t Hurry Love” by The Supremes.
> 
> This work is not to be reposted on any other site without my explicit permission.

It starts with Fitz, a nice but shy faun who’s running from his lifelong love—his best friend. He’s adorable in a dorky kind of way, endearing and charming. But I can’t. I can’t be with someone when they’re holding out for someone else. It hits too damn close to home.

With Matt, a very cordial dullahan, we’re able to make pleasant conversation for the evening. He’s attractive and a good conversationalist, making the meeting less stressful. But there’s no spark, no chemistry bubbling beneath the surface. We fall flat, in short, and part as friendly acquaintances with the happy expectation that we’ll never see each other again.

Hela is a disaster—a goddamn nightmare. Condescending and, at some points, just plain _mean_. Something flutters in my belly when I first see her perched on the stool at the bar. She’s stunning, sultry in a very alluring way—which probably stems from her being a succubus. But once our evening truly begins, she speaks and my stomach plummets to my feet. I leave the restaurant with nausea churning in my gut.

*

The key turns in the door, new library books cradled close to my chest as I barge into my apartment. I drop my keys in their place on the side table and lock the door behind me, peeking through the kitchen doorway to see if Bucky and Steve are up and about quite yet.

When I find no sign of them, despite Steve’s incessant—no, insane—need to run fifteen miles a day at the ass crack of dawn come hell or high water, my brow scrunches and lips purse.

Surely, they must be here somewhere.

A groan, low and throaty, reaches my ears, the sound startling. Shuffling those final steps to our living room, I freeze in my tracks, eyes wide and mind blue screening. Because I hear that groan again, and this time I have the visual display to clue me into the context of the vocalization.

Steve reclines, splayed across the couch, hoofs hanging off the edge at the other end, Bucky plastered across him, looping around his body like a Christmas bow. Their mouths clash together, tongues twisting, fingers buried in thick tufts of hair. Bucky’s hips gyrate, sliding over Steve for friction, gasps and whimpers, panting breaths exchanged between open mouths.

Heat flushes through my blood from my toes to the tips of my ears, kindling desire between my thighs. My mouth waters and the rest of my body has stopped working, enthralled by their writhing figures. Because holy shit, good gods—they’re _divine_.

“Buck,” Steve rasps, fingers skipping down Bucky’s torso, disappearing between their flushed, dewy bodies. Swallowing the responsive moan slipping from Bucky’s lips, a hitched breath.

And they freeze.

It takes me a minute to understand why. That a whimper, so small and unintended, choked in my throat, had escaped me as I watched them. Startled from being caught, my books fall from my grasp and land on the floor with heavy thunks.

“I am _so_ sorry,” I apologize with a grimace, dropping to my knees to collect the splayed pages. Sticking the books under my arms, I stare at the floor, begging for my embarrassment to dissipate enough for me to address my two roommates with a clear head.

Standing slowly, a sheepish smile spreads my lips, thoughts still searching for something to say to break this tension.

The flick of Bucky’s tongue catches my attention as it scents the air, and I gulp. The thought of what he might detect—like, oh I don’t know, the slickness of my heated arousal sticking to my panties—spikes another wave of embarrassed heat flaming up my cheeks. My mind scrambles—free falling with nothing to grasp onto except some very colorful and, dare I say, creative curses.

“Morning, li’l one,” Steve greets, clearing his throat and sitting up beneath Bucky. The naga merely keeps his watchful eyes on me, tasting the air again with his forked tongue. Steve glances over to his boyfriend before addressing me once more to explain, “We got a little carried away after my run.” His large hand runs over the hair at the back of his neck, head cocking to the side, the beads woven into his braid glinting in a ray of sunlight. “I hope you don’t mind that the two of us—”

“No, nope, not at all,” I squeak, interrupting him, not needing to hear any more. Avoiding the weight of his inquisitive gaze, I look anywhere in the room except for their entwined bodies, trying to pry any shred of composure left within me—of common decency to not leer at them like a lech—to the surface. “You guys can just go back to your…” The words fizzle on my tongue. I clear my throat and look away, gesturing toward our separate rooms. “I’ll just be reading,” I mutter, hand tapping on the books under my arm awkwardly.

Scurrying away, I refuse to look back, hearing the mumblings of their conversation as I retreat. The door closes behind me quickly, my back pressed to the sturdy wood, breath shuddering out of my lungs. My teeth worry my bottom lip, swallowing down the scream of frustration. Mind spouting chastisement for interrupting their intimate moment and _ogling_ them like some kind of pervert.

Flinging my new books onto my desk, I push away for the door and drop into the seat, thunking my head on the wood top—completely ignoring the aching, bone-deep yearning that laces with every drop of blood in my veins when the agitation begins to cool and dissipate.

Fuck my life. It’s gonna be one of _those_ days.

*

“So, how’s your little venture going?” Natasha asks, sipping on her latte, cool eyes scanning over the crowd at the café before focusing on me. She shifts in her chair, brushing a lock of her bright red hair over her shoulder, waiting on my answer.

“Miserably,” I groan, dropping my head, barely missing the chai latte beside my hands. She hums in response, her brow quirking at me.

“That’s what you get for using Glammr without my help,” she muses with a wry chuckle.

My lips part on an indignant protest, “I—”

“What do Steve and Bucky think about your dive into dating apps?” she interrupts, observing me curiously.

I sigh, rolling my eyes, “I haven’t told them yet.”

She hums again, lips pressed in a contemplative grin.

“Oh, what now?” I ask, raising my head, leveling a mild glare at her.

“Nothing,” she insists with a teasing smirk, “it’s just interesting is all.”

“What’s interesting?” Clint asks, plopping back in his seat at the table. He grabs his giant cup of coffee and starts downing it like he’s a parched man in a desert.

I stare at him in awe, fingers rubbing my temples, wondering at his ability to drain 24 ounces so quickly, like he doesn’t need air. It’s almost easy to forget what we were talking about—but I’m not that lucky.

“Steve and Bucky don’t know she’s dating,” Natasha replies with a nonchalant gesture in my direction.

Clint sputters, choking on the dregs of his drink. He coughs as Natasha whacks him on his back, catching his breath and waving her—and her assault—away.

“Oh boy,” he mumbles, averting his eyes to stare at the lid of his cup. He fidgets uncomfortably, popping his foot on the opposite knee and leaning back in his seat.

“ _What_?” I ask, defensively, eyes darting between my two companions.

Neither respond. Natasha kicks Clint’s foot, the man falling forward at the jolt. He glances over at her, an annoyed frown on his lips. The minutes of my lunch break tick by in silence, watching as they communicate in a language all their own—until I break it.

“Look,” I reason, leaning back in my chair and picking at my sleeve, “living with Steve and Bucky is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love them. But you know what they’re like. They’re the perfect couple. You can’t imagine how lonely it can be.” My eyes drop to my lap, a weary sigh of air blowing past my lips—cause I’m not gonna cry, no, nope, definitely not. I clear my throat and look up, grabbing my mug to take a sip of my drink, muttering, “Even if I don’t find ‘the one’, the least this app can do is help me get laid.”

Clint groans my name, drenching it in disappointment. My shoulders lift in an unapologetic shrug, my phone pinging with a distraction from the conversation. Plucking the device off the table, I glance at the notification, the Glammr app opening as I unlock the screen.

_You’ve been matched!_

A small smile quirks the corner of my lips while I click through the profile. Swiping through the About section and the photos with rising excitement.

Two sets of eyes land on me, burning as heat rises in my cheeks. Their scrutiny pointed and expectant.

“It’s just a match in the app,” I mumble in explanation, skimming through Okoye’s interests. She’s gorgeous—a beautiful lamia with striking red scales—and, from her profile, she seems to be very dedicated to her job at Wakanda Corps.

My eyes flick up, catching the unwavering stares of my so-called friends. I sigh. Understanding I won’t know peace until they’re appeased, I turn the screen in their direction. Natasha snatches the phone from my hand, thumbing through Okoye’s pictures while Clint leans over her arm to catch a peek.

Natasha says nothing—not a peep—and eventually hands back the phone, head cocked to the side, sizing me up. Clint does the same. And I feel like a specimen being examined in a petrie dish.

My phone chimes again, alarm going off to signal the imminent end of my break. I sigh in relief and click off the annoying tone, locking the screen and shoving it in my pocket.

“I’ll see you guys later?” I ask, looking down at them as I sling my bag over my shoulder.

They mumble their affirmative responses and I grin, heading toward the door, spirits high. Only four and a half more hours of work to go. And then all my attention can focus on wooing my newest match.

*

Trudging up the stairs to my apartment, I clutch at the bottom of my bag of groceries, praying that it doesn’t spill out all over the floor. It’s been a long ass day and all I need is some time to relax and not have to think about the billion things I have to sort through on my desk. Just a couple hours without that burden, that’s all I want.

My key slides into the door, pushing it open and catching it with my foot before it slams. I drop my workbag from my shoulder and kick off my shoes in the entryway, trying to get them as straight as possible with the use of my feet so they line up on the mat next to the others.

The smell of spices wafts through the air, a siren call for my empty stomach. Following the scent to the kitchen, I place my bag of groceries on the counter and tiptoe over to the pot bubbling away with some kind of stew. Grabbing a spoon out of the drawer, I dip it in, blowing to cool it off, and bring it toward my lips.

“You little sneak.”

I jump, startled by the voice and nearly drop the spoon as I turn. Bucky leans against the doorway to the kitchen, an amused smirk plastered on his lips. I childishly stick out my tongue before popping the spoon into my mouth, moaning quietly at the savory taste. He rolls his eyes at me, scoffing at my antics.

My brow cocks in question as my eyes drink in the sight of his buttoned shirt and tight jeans. “Why is your glamour still up?” I ask, stepping to the sink to place my spoon down. My head tilts to the side as I study his fidgeting form, his arms crossing and uncrossing in front of his chest.

“I was waiting for you to get home,” he confesses with a self-conscious chuckle.

My eyes roll at the statement, walking out of the kitchen and toward my room, pulling my sweater off my arms and starting to unbutton my blouse. Bucky follows, slowly stalking after me and staying behind the door as I push it closed and begin to change.

“We do have the heat lamps, you know,” I call through the door, stripping out of my work clothes and grabbing an oversized shirt and cotton bike shorts to wear. The responding disgruntled groan is a familiar sound, my head shaking in amusement at his foolishness.

“You know I don’t like the heat lamps. We only have them for emergencies anyway,” he replies with a hint of a whine twinging his tone.

I hum in response, picturing his pout—the cute bastard. Checking my reflection in my mirror, I adjust my bralette and roll my neck. With a final tug to my shorts, pulling them just that little inconsequential bit down my thighs, I fling open my door and cross my arms expectantly over my chest.

“Besides, you know I like snuggling up with you better,” he insists, head canted toward me and eyes shining like a pouty puppy.

My eyes roll once more, and I make a quick wave of my hand, gesturing toward his body. “Alright then, go ahead.”

His skin glimmers, shifting the glamour away until he stands tall with his tail coiling beneath him. He sighs in relief, stretching his back and arms, the tip of his tail creeping slowly around my ankle.

I step out of my room carefully, avoiding the tripping hazard, and make my way back toward the kitchen.

“Did Steve text you about being hung up at work?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to Bucky slithering after me.

“He said we should eat without him,” he replies, a hint of excitement in his voice. “It’ll just be the two of us this evening.” He sneaks closer, approaching quickly and embracing me from behind, squishing my arms against my chest, humming joyfully.

His head finds the crook of my neck, resting there as I awkwardly bend to stir the stew one last time and start serving it into the bowls placed by the stove. Bucky’s more-than-hearty portion and my more average one don’t making much of a dent in the pot at all, leaving plenty left over for Steve when he gets home.

Bucky releases me and I turn to grab two spoons before picking both bowls up and nodding for him to lead the way.

A squeak of surprise jumps out of me as Bucky, instead, hefts me into his arms. My heart thumps in my chest as I scramble not to drop the two bowls in my hands—or spill hot stew all over my shirt. He chuckles and pulls me close to his chest, his smooth scales sending a shiver down my spine as they brush against my exposed thighs.

“Bucky!” I protest half-heartedly, still unused to being hefted up by his monstrous strength, but loving every second. I mean, he holds me as if I weigh less than a feather—who in their right mind would seriously object—no one, I tell you, _no one_.

He slides out of the kitchen and over to our couch, a pair of glasses and a filtered pitcher of water waiting on the table. A small sound of appreciation trips over my lips at his thoughtfulness as he sets me gently down in the corner of the couch, propping me up with every pillow he can find, and places himself right beside me.

Crammed close together, skin to scales, I scoff with a complacent amusement as Bucky’s tail wraps and folds on itself, taking up most of the cushion space. If I weren’t so used to it, I might actually blush at such close proximity.

We eat our dinner, the buzz of some cooking show playing behind us as we chat. Bucky tells me about his day, how Shuri has been on his ass for the past week trying to get blueprints and models done for a presentation to some client. At the mention of his skipped lunch break, my mouth lets out a sound of disgruntled protest while my eyes squint in a scrutinizing glare.

“I’m sorry,” he concedes, stacking our empty bowls on the table next to our glasses. His arms wrap around my waist, hugging his torso close to mine as he promises, “it won’t happen again.”

I nod, a definitive, “good,” as I relax against the couch arm and the stack of pillows behind me.

Bucky rests his head on my chest, the sharp points of his claws tickling my side as he lazily wraps around me. My fingers run through his long brown hair, used to his clingy nature, smiling softly to myself at his familiar weight, heavy yet comforting.

Reaching out a hand, straining toward the remote control, I switch to Netflix and start playing a random sitcom.

Bucky’s body rolls, pressing his back against my chest to better face the screen. Knowing exactly how he wants to be held, I push my body up a little on the couch and spread my legs until he slots more comfortably between them.

One knee rests propped against the back cushion and one splays out straight, his tail keeping it on the couch by looping over it and pinning it down. My right arm wraps under Bucky’s to hold him from behind, his chest rising and falling with his steady breaths under my palm.

The fingers of my left hand absentmindedly find and trace the thick, jagged scars vining around his left arm, thoughts automatically drifting toward the horrific memory of his past. My mind races, muscles tensing at the recollection, but unable to escape the furious spiral.

Sensing the direction of my thoughts, he grabs hold of my fingers to stop me. “I’m alright,” he whispers, eyes locked on our hands. “I’m alright.”

I sniff back the rage that boils in my veins. “That hydra was a bitch,” I mutter darkly, my fingers flexing in his grip. “Can’t believe you dated her for so long.”

“I’m alright,” he insists one more time.

A moment of silence passes between us, a few agitated huffs of air expelled from my lungs before I lean just the slightest bit forward and press a kiss to Bucky’s crown, feeling the tension leech away from my limbs.

We remain entangled on the couch, barely watching the show that plays on the screen—tender, friendly touches exchanged between us. My eyes eventually drift shut, a peaceful contented rest coaxing me toward sleep.

“Now, how’d I get so lucky.” The voice jerks me back to awareness, finding Steve leaning against the entry to the living room, a sweet smile lighting up his face. “Such a pretty picture.”

A chuckle vibrates my chest as I squirm beneath Bucky’s weight, trying to maneuver myself to a different position.

“Oh, I know,” I snark, grunting with the effort of trying to shove the naga’s mass so I can stand and stretch. “But don’t let Bucky hear you or he might get jealous.”

Steve snorts, letting his glamour drop, body rippling as his form grows to it’s towering height and natural bovine features.

Bucky scoffs, twisting with a narrowed gaze. “That’s it,” he hisses playfully, “now you’re just going to perish beneath me.”

“Promises, promises,” I jest, placing a teasing kiss on his nose. “Steve,” I gesture over to the massive, muscled minotaur, “would you please get your boyfriend off of me?”

“Or, just hear me out,” he replies, raising his hands up and backing away to retrieve his dinner, “I could not do that.”

At my sputter of objection, he laughs—the little shit—a resounding sound that echoes back to the living room as dishes clink in the kitchen.

I groan, flopping back on the arm of the chair, the corner of my lip quirking toward an amused smile. Bucky lowers his torso, pressing our bodies flush once again, inching back to rest his head on my breasts.

“So, this how you want me to perish?” I muse, brow cocked in query.

Bucky hums, tail flicking as it coils around my ankle once again. He doesn’t move from his position, and I huff a heavy sigh, rubbing my hand up my forehead and over my hair.

Arching my back as best I can, trying to stretch, I jostle Bucky’s resting place over me. He lifts his head to glare, and I scrunch my nose in taunting response.

“How was your day, Steve?” I call toward the kitchen, brushing some of Bucky’s hair out of his eyes. “Certainly had you working late, didn’t they?”

Steve emerges from the kitchen with his plate, chewing over his bite as he steps over to the couch. Bucky uncoils, scooting to make some room and I take the opportunity to slip off the sofa and onto the floor, providing them all the space they need.

Bucky clicks his tongue in displeasure, claws scraping over the back of my neck as I maneuver out of his grip. But his boyfriend distracts him by sitting at the other end, spreading out to relax into the cushions—and Steve’s a much better cuddle buddy, definitely much warmer and more tempting.

“Yeah, this latest project is just kicking my ass,” he sighs a huff out of his nose, a small smile gracing his features as Bucky coils around him. “Rollins isn’t doing shit, so someone’s gotta pick up the slack at the end of the day.”

“You want me to put a strike in his file?” I ask, glancing up over my shoulder to catch his gaze.

“No,” he says, shaking his head with a small grimace, “wouldn’t be quite right.”

“Steve, it’s literally my job,” I rebut, deadpan.

His shoulders bob in a shrug and he shoves another bite of food into his mouth. I sigh and lean my head back looking for a sympathetic companion in Bucky. Appearing just as peeved as I feel, his tail flicks through the air and resolve settles within me.

“I’mma do it anyway,” I announce with a yawn, standing from the floor and stretching tall, the hem of my shirt brushing my waist to reveal a sliver of skin. Steve’s eyes flash darkly and I blow him a playful kiss, turning toward the hallway to saunter off to bed.

“I’m gonna head in for the evening.” I spin on my heel, backing toward my room and giving a little wave.

“Do you wanna sleep in the nest with us tonight?” Bucky offers, pressing up from Steve’s chest, gaze shining with eagerness.

I pause, freezing mid-step, thoughts sent flying.

Before Steve moved in and got together with Bucky, the naga was my constant companion in bed—since our days in college, actually—saying my warmth was just right for a peaceful night’s sleep. Our little nest took up the whole floor of my bedroom, piles of blankets and pillows draped just so to create a cushy place to rest on the floor or burrow beneath.

And then, things changed.

Steve was a friendly face at work, and needed a place to live after his roommate proposed to his girlfriend. I offered him the extra room in the apartment—wasn’t like Bucky or I ever used it except to store some of my clothes. He agreed to a test run, and that was supposed to be that.

But their eyes met for the first time and everything just clicked. Didn’t take them very long at all to absolutely fall head over heels, and I moved, leaving the nest with Bucky and sleeping on the ‘guest’ bed in my new room.

It wasn’t a hard transition, not really—well, maybe a little—fuck it, _a lot_. After years of cuddling with your best friend every night, sleeping alone is awfully lonely. Not to mention the fact that those two weren’t the only ones head over heels. Just my luck, though, right?

But the offer to sleep with them in their nest—uh-uh, no way, not happening. That’s just too damn much. I can’t handle that—I know myself far too well to let myself take that little crumb of intimacy.

I scoff and cross my arms in the best act of nonchalance I can muster, “Nah,” I wave a hand in a flippant gesture, “got a cozy bed all to myself. I’ll see you two in the morning.” I swallow down the crack that threatens my voice, taking another step back, and disappear into my room with a final bid goodnight.

*

Okoye doesn’t work out.

She’s incredibly charming and accommodating. When she smiles, it absolutely lights up the room. My heart flutters just remembering the way she looked at me. But when she said she’s dedicated to her job on her profile, she really meant it. She talks about her work throughout most of our dinner, her phone resting on the table beside her hand—just in case an emergency requires her attention, she says.

She kisses me on the cheek at the end of the night, her fingers delicately clutching my wrist as she hails me a cab. We part amicably, and I don’t expect to hear from her again.

*

The morning sun shines bright and temperate on the stalls of the Farmers’ Market, tents and tables lining the street as Steve, Bucky, and I explore the goods for sale. My two roommates wear their glamour, blending into the crowd as if there were nothing extraordinary about them—yeah, right. Their faces shine bright with happiness, flanking me on either side, holding my hands to keep me close.

A certain booth catches my eye as we pass, the shine of pretty metal shaped in delicate designs luring me over. My hands slip easily from each of their grips, pace slowing to step toward the table and look at the small pieces of jewelry.

Earrings hang from pieces of card, necklaces sit coiled in little boxes, and rings stick from cushions, lining the table. My fingers dance over the pretty trinkets, examining various designs that catch my fancy, debating on which one to purchase.

“There you are,” Steve huffs in mild annoyance, stomping over to my side, frown pulling the corners of his lips down, “More slippery than a snake.”

“Hey!” Bucky protests, stepping on my other side and throwing his arm over my shoulder.

Steve ignores his boyfriend, laser focused on me. He crosses his spindly arms and arches his brow. I duck my head with a repentant smile, muttering an apology as I look down at him.

“It’s just pretty,” I mumble, scuffing my toe against the asphalt. “I won’t do it again.”

Bucky tugs me closer, making my feet stumble as I fall back into him. “Yes, you will,” he chuckles with a fond smile, squeezing me gently. “C’mon,” he beckons, dropping his arm to grab my hand and tug me away, “Wanna go look at those pies.”

My eye catches the stall Bucky’s talking about—a long table absolutely _piled_ with baked goods. All thought of the jewelry vanishes, mind much more occupied by cookies and tarts and pies and cakes—each more tempting than the last. My mouth waters and I follow like a moth to a flame as he guides me away with a sneaky glance over his shoulder toward Steve.

The pixie running the stall flits between customers, boxing up their goods and smiling brightly with their sharp teeth. They address us when it’s our turn, Bucky and I each picking out a few goodies to take home, salivating in anticipation.

Bucky hands over the money to pay for our treats, my cheeks puffed in playful indignation and hand halfway to my own wallet. Instead, I grab up the cardboard box, cradling it close to my chest like a precious treasure, looking around for Steve, craning my head to catch the flash of his golden hair in the crowd.

“Why does Steve’s glamour have to be so short?” I huff. “He’s a huge, burly minotaur and yet I can’t pick him out of a crowd.”

“Well, I _was_ the runt of my family,” Steve teases, sneaking up behind me and poking me in the side.

I jump with a squeak and turn on my heel. “You scared me, you punk!” I scold half-heartedly, a laugh bursting out of my chest as my lips spread into an easy smile.

Steve chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, sidling up to Bucky to press a kiss to his cheek. I shake my head fondly and look away to give them a moment of privacy.

Though my heart swells with their effortless display of affection, a twinge of envy bites low in my gut—easy enough to smother and bury deep if I just don’t think about it too hard.

“Let’s keep going,” I encourage with a gesture to prompt them onward.

Bucky buys a couple fresh plums a few booths down, biting into one and letting the juice dribble down his chin. He gladly offers us each a bite, holding it out to let Steve and I sink our teeth into the succulent flesh in turn.

I hum, pleased at the taste, smiling brightly as I chew, hands too occupied with our box of baked goods to effectively wipe away the sweet residue.

Bucky reaches out with a laugh, holding my head still. His fingers swipe slowly over my lips and chin, cleaning my face and sucking his sticky fingers into his mouth. I swallow thickly with an exclamation of gratitude before averting my eyes—refusing to let my mind linger in the soft brush of his fingers.

When we reach the end, stalls packing away tables and unsold inventory, we turn to find our way back to our apartment, bags, stomachs, and hearts full.

“Did you see those pumpkins, though?” I gush, precariously holding our box of treats in one arm as I gesture wildly with the other, “they were _ginormous_!”

“I’m pretty sure I could curl up inside one of them if I really wanted to,” Bucky adds with a laugh.

My smile stretches my face wide, shoulder nudging his as we walk down the street. Steve remains quiet to my other side, brow drawn in contemplation. Though I don’t comment, I shoot a look toward Bucky, brow arched in question. He shakes his head with an unworried shrug.

Well, that’s not a satisfactory response.

Questions begin to zip through my head, even as our apartment building appears around the corner. I press my lips together, trying to swallow them down. But they buzz under my skin and up my throat until I can’t keep them at bay and my curiosity and concern overwhelms me.

“Is everything alright, Steve?” I ask bluntly, both men glancing at each other before their eyes land on me.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Steve replies, grinning nervously. His hands rummage in his pockets before producing a small black box, juggling it between his fingers before holding it out toward me. “I thought you might like this, though.”

We stop in front of our building stoop, my focus drawn to Steve’s offering, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. The lid cracks open to reveal a small cushion holding a delicate burnished silver ring decorated with a small star. My jaw drops, eyes flicking between the pretty trinket and Steve’s bashful smile.

“Oh, Steve,” I croon, holding out my hand, gesturing to the box of pastries in the other, “help me put it on.”

His fingers fumble with the box, plucking the ring from it’s place and steadying his trembling hands by holding mine. The ring slips easily onto my left pointer finger, a small stone glinting in the middle of the star as light hits it.

I hold my hand up, admiring it’s beauty. Leaning down, I buss an affectionate and appreciative kiss to his cheek, pressing my lips together as I retreat—hoping my smile doesn’t shine too bright or expose too much.

“I love it, but you didn’t have to,” I murmur, still enraptured by the thought behind the dainty gift.

“I wanted to,” Steve mumbles, a pink blush crawling up his cheeks.

I giggle in delight and bounce up the steps of our building, wrangling my keys out of my pocket to open the door. Steve and Bucky slow their pace, Bucky’s hand slipping into Steve’s as they share a private moment together of soft smiles and sweet kisses.

My shoulder pushes through the door, stomach sinking. I trek up the staircase as quick as my feet will carry me, ignoring the way my heart thunders and my lips wobble—if I just go fast enough, maybe I’ll outrun the uncomfortable jealousy nipping at my heels.

*

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Quentin gushes holding up his packet of papers in both hands, a smile spreading his lips. “Saving me hours of headache. You really are my savior.” Despite my thought that maybe he’d leave after that statement, he leans his hip against the edge of my desk, clearly far from being finished.

Scooting my chair just the tiniest bit away from his position, I stack some files and shake my head, bracing for whatever other favor he’s going to ask of me. “It’s just my job, Quentin. It’s not a big deal.”

“Well, fine,” he concedes with a sigh and self-deprecating shrug. “But I still wanna take you out tonight.”

I sputter, not expecting the blunt come on from someone at work—someone I haven’t exactly interacted with much.

“Excuse me?” I query, surely mishearing what he said.

“I want to take you out tonight, on a date—thank you thoroughly,” he replies, adding an eyebrow waggle for an extra level of innuendo that I _absolutely_ do not need.

A record scratch plays in my mind, mouth opening and closing like a fish—trying to find a company appropriate way to say ‘no, hell no, hell to the fucking no no no’.

“Heya, li’l one.”

My head whips around to find Steve, standing on my other side with a small paper bag and coffee cup in his hands.

Meeting my wide, panicky eyes, he immediately reacts, stepping closer and setting aside his offerings. As soon as his hand is free, he sets one on the nape of my neck in a reassuring gesture and tips his head down to press his lips against my temple. I breathe deeply, letting the tension melt away from my shoulders, immediately comprehending exactly what this possessive display is meant to do. Thank the gods for perceptive best friends, that’s all I have to say.

“Who’s this?” Steve asks, voice hard and gaze scrutinizing as it flicks away from me.

“Just Quentin,” I reply, practically giddy with this new escape tactic Steve has provided. “He needed some forms, but he’s got them now.”

Our attention turns to the other man standing beside my desk, his brow furrowed, eyes darting between us with confusion.

“You’re with this pipsqueak?” he scoffs, leaning back on his heels and rolling his eyes. “Come out to dinner with me and I’ll prove that you can do better.”

Steve’s fist clenches at his side, his chest puffing with his anger, a ferocious glower marring his handsome features. His skin starts to shimmer, his glamour beginning to melt away.

“You better back off, pal.” His nostrils flare with his threat, shoulders tense.

Quentin only smirks, completely dismissive of my friend’s growing ire. Which, honestly, is a terrible mistake and yet he doesn’t realize it—R.I.P. Quentin.

Steve’s form begins to shift, growing taller and taller until his horns seem to almost brush against the ceiling tiles, golden fur sprouting from his shoulders and over his legs. Though Steve’s face remains scrunched in a show of his anger, his breathing calms, confident as he stares down at the man whose eyes widen, round as dinner plates.

My hand brushes against my friend’s forearm, petting my fingers delicately through his fur. He snaps his eyes in my direction, a fond smile tilting his lips as he catches my gaze.

“Now,” Steve grunts, turning back to Quentin with a snort from his nose, “You’re gonna leave my girlfriend alone. You got that? She doesn’t appreciate your advances.” He takes a step forward, encroaching on Quentin’s personal space, voice dropping low and threatening, “And I don’t appreciate it either.” He ducks his head, his warm breath fanning over the other man’s face—just waiting for objections he won’t receive.

Quentin nods frantically, stepping away and scurrying toward the elevators without another word. Steve nods, satisfied with himself, before turning back toward me, his glamour recast as his height shrinks and he appears human once more.

He places his hands on his hips and sighs in resignation, “I’m gonna get in trouble for that.”

I pop up, out of my seat, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him close in a grateful hug. I rock us back and forth, squeezing his thin frame as tight as I can.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I chant enthusiastically. “You’re my hero.”

Steve pulls away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, eyes avoiding mine and the tips of his ears tinted the cutest shade of pink. I giggle quietly and seat myself back at my desk, straightening my appearance as I do. Steve caresses his fingers across my cheek, brushing away a piece of lint or eyelash.

“Gotta protect my best girl, don’t I?” he asks with a cheeky smirk.

*

“I’ll grab the snacks,” I announce, standing from the couch while Bucky flips through the movies on streaming and Steve makes quiet comments. They both send me a smile as I retreat, but make no further requests.

In the kitchen, I grab a bag of chips and throw some popcorn into the microwave, pulling bowls from the cabinet and filling each with sweet or salty snacks. My phone pings with a Glammr notification—that distinct alert sound immediately catching my attention. Heat surges up my cheeks, hearing it so softly, knowing that my phone sits perched on the arm of the couch, too far out of my reach and far too close to Steve and Bucky’s.

I scramble back into the living room and my stomach plummets toward my toes. Bucky’s holding my phone, brows furrowed in confusion. Steve’s gaze turns to me, glaring—honestly angry. My blood freezes in my veins at the look, a litany of curses playing on repeat in my head.

“What is this?”

I clear my throat, shifting uncomfortably on my feet right at the edge of the living room—too fucking scared to take one step further. My face scrunches with my chagrin as I reply, “It’s Glammr, a dating app for people who are looking to date other beings, you know—monsters and aliens and stuff.”

“I know what Glammr is,” Steve responds through gritted teeth, his jaw ticking with irritation. “What is it doing on your phone?”

A high whine slips from my throat, displeased with the current—embarrassing—trajectory for this inquisition. I glance toward Bucky, hoping to gauge his reaction—maybe find a speck of sympathy—but he simply stares at my phone, frozen in place, expression befuddled.

“I’m just—” I pause and run my hand over my hair, “It’s pretty self-explanatory, Steve. I’m looking for a partner.”

“You have us,” Steve retorts, head tilting to the side and eyes squinting in a prolonged, accusatory examination.

“And I love that the two of you are so inclusive with me,” I reassure, holding my hands out in front of me in a placating gesture. “But I know that I’m always cramping your intimacy by being a third wheel and, you know,” I mutter, chin dropping as I look to the floor, “I kinda want my own romantic connection. Someone to go on dates with and be cute with. Someone to fall in love with. Someone to fuck.” I flinch, a grimace distorting my lower lip as I level my gaze with his—I did _not_ mean to say that last part out loud.

Steve stands up from the couch, arms crossed over his chest and stare unrelenting. Bucky finally moves his eyes from the screen of my phone, squinting at me with incredulity.

But it’s Steve who speaks up to repeat, “You. have. _us_.”

Like puzzle pieces clicking into place, the meaning behind the minotaur’s statement slowly falls into perspective. My jaw drops, head cocking to the side and a dawning realization washes over me. Disbelief registers first, looking to the naga still sitting on the couch for an explanation to this lunacy. But Bucky just nods, looking between his boyfriend and me—confirming the statement like he hasn’t just thrown a giant fucking wrench into my perception of, well, _everything_.

“Since fucking _when_?!” I exclaim, absolutely flabbergasted by their agreement on the subject.

Both of them look taken aback by my outburst—finally relenting from their broody agitation—sharing a wary glance before turning back to me. Steve’s arms drop to his sides, his feet backing up a step closer to the couch. Bucky rises slowly from his seat, standing stalwart beside his boyfriend.

“What do you mean?” the naga asks, hesitantly sliding forward, head canting to the side. “You didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?!” My voice pitches high, and he flinches. Cringing at my own tone, I mumble an apology, still left reeling from their declaration.

“Li’l one,” Steve says hesitantly, “we’ve been dating for five months. You’re our girlfriend.”

“Says who?!” My heart beats frantic in my chest. My palms sweat and every inch of my body screams with the urge to run. Am I even still breathing right now? This is definitely not what was intended for movie night. My hand runs over my face, trying to puzzle out everything in my mind—remembering instances that would point toward close friendship, but not a whole goddamn _relationship_ , especially when they’re already together. Am I missing something?

“You accepted the ring I gave you,” Steve mentions, gesturing toward my hand where the ring sits.

I glance at it, replying easily, “That was a thoughtful gift.”

“And you braided my hair.” Steve plucks at the long lock of golden hair that sits just before his ear and horn, adorned—still—with the beads I wove in this morning.

“Because you couldn’t get it quite right and Bucky was still asleep,” I justify, realizing that my voice is rising with panic, not understanding the meaning of what he’s saying. “I was just trying to help.”

Steve sighs in exasperation, brows pinched with a growing sense of defeat as he continues, “Bucky looks to you for warmth.” A gesture toward his boyfriend sends my gaze jumping in his direction. 

“He always has,” I reason, with a weak wave of my hand, “since we met in college.”

Bucky glances away, clearly upset by something I’ve said or done. My heart clenches in my chest, throat dry. I shift on my feet, concentrating on Steve, though the fight drains from me until only trepidation remains.

“Bucky wraps his tail around your ankle.” Steve’s tone softens slightly, despite his surely rising agitation over the fact that I’m unable to grasp the implications of his examples.

“Yes?” I confirm, voice barely a whisper, arms hugging around my middle.

“Those are courting rituals, all of them. We thought you reciprocated,” Steve presses, his hand finding Bucky’s, their fingers intertwining and holding tight.

“No,” I croak, confusion and regret clashing within me, “no I absolutely did not.” My mind chants a constant loop of expletives, berating myself for being so unknowledgeable about their customs. “Oh, gods, I’m so sorry. I never realized.” My hand runs over my head, grasping at the back of my neck, unable to let myself even look at them.

“Do you not want us?” Bucky asks, his voice soft, pained, cracking over his words. His eyes pool with tears and his body angles behind Steve, hiding himself away from me.

My eyes dart up, mouth gaping open, heart absolutely shattering. Because, really—honest to God—the answer is a big, fat fucking yes. _Of course_ I want them, want to shout it from the rooftop.

“I never said that,” I retort, finger pointing at the naga, trembling slightly until I draw it back, rubbing my palm over my face. I swallow a scream, feet itching to pace across the floor.

“But you’re upset?” Steve concludes, eyes glancing between Bucky and I, trying just as hard to reckon how this debacle will settle.

I breathe deeply, stretching my back and closing my eyes for a brief moment of respite from this whole situation. Shaking out my arms to dispel the residual anxiety and stress from my limbs. A calm clarity washes over me, a determination and confidence that grabs me and roots me to my spot. My eyes open and I face them head-on.

“Of course, I’m fucking upset,” I reply staring at my roommates, both balking at my response, “Apparently, my best friends have been my boyfriends _for months_ and somehow none of us took a moment to ensure everyone was on the same page.” My teeth bite into my cheek as I fight back a smile that threatens to splash across my lips, face scrunching with the effort. Continuing my teasing tirade, I scold, “And, now I know and am fully onboard, but neither one of you has even tried to kiss me!”

It takes a moment for my statement to sink in, their brows furrowed low over their eyes as they gather what I’ve said. But then, in a moment of sheer bliss, they understand—joy spreading plain as day across their faces.

The way Bucky’s tail coils beneath him, eying me like a predator before he launches himself across the room—I shriek in delight. His body collides with mine, pushing me against the nearest wall as he takes my breath away, kissing me with relish, like I’m the only sustenance he’ll ever need. And there’s lips nipping at my neck, the radiant warmth of Steve’s larger body pressing against us from the side, my head gently angled away from Bucky’s curious forked tongue so that Steve can get his own indulgent taste.

I sigh into each of their mouths as we lock lips, flowing like liquid from kiss to kiss—tongues, jaws, necks, licking, sucking, moaning. When we part to breathe, I can only giggle before returning to their addicting lips, dazed and dizzy from their affection.

“Gods, I feel drunk,” I titter, pulling away from both of them, their chests heaving against mine so pleasantly. My head knocks back against the wall behind me, eyes fluttering shut with a satisfied sigh. “Please don’t let me be such a fucking idiot ever again,” I beg, voice dripping with mirth. “I mean, goddamn, I’ve been missing so much of the good stuff.”

“We thought you wanted to take things slow,” Bucky explains, his tongue flicking out between his lips, tickling along my neck until I shiver. “Thought you wanted to wait, or that you weren’t completely comfortable with it quite yet. That’s why we tried to keep it PG while you were in the room.”

I hum, head tilting and narrowed eyes dancing between them. “Thank you,” I say, genuinely touched by their consideration, despite it’s complete fallacy. “But to correct your assumption, I am 100% comfortable with the two of you just absolutely wrecking me until I can’t walk tomorrow.” My lips spread with a charming, almost innocent smile, absolutely savoring their stunned reactions.

Steve breaks out of it first, shaking his head and closing his parted lips, pupils blown with lust as he presses closer, dipping his head toward me. My heart flutters in my chest, excitement building within me along with a strange triumphant euphoria that leaves me dizzy.

“Well, then,” he huffs, his lips brushing against my ear, “we can definitely accommodate that.”

I whimper, knees knocking together as my thighs clench, white hot desire engulfing my body, core dripping with my arousal. “Yes, please,” I mewl, barely able to choke the syllables out as lust burns within me.

Steve moans, hand cupping my face as he grunts, “Gonna be the death of me, li’l one.”

Without any further warning, his great arms sweep me off my feet, cradling me close to his furry chest. He turns down the hallway, quick, purposeful strides leading us toward their room. But Bucky remains in place, staring after us with heated longing heavy in his gaze. And I just can’t have that—no, sir.

I push myself to look over Steve’s shoulder and hold out my hand toward the naga, beckoning him to follow. “Come on, Buck, don’t wanna miss the fun, do you?” I tease with a wink. Bucky jolts from his trance, slithering quickly after us until he can grasp my hand. I draw it to my lips, pressing light kisses to each of his claws, voice breathy as I whisper, “We got a lot of time to make up for, after all.”

A deep, throaty low rumbles in Steve’s chest accompanied by a sibilant murmur from Bucky’s. I preen in the heady delight of their desire and love—completely prepared to compensate for our lost time—and then some.

**Author's Note:**

> If I missed any tags, let me know and I’ll add them! 
> 
> 💜
> 
> Also, if you want to drop by and say ‘hi’ or wanna have a chat, here’s my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)


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